What to Expect
by Fluffy Darkness
Summary: Syfy's Alice. Hatter hadn’t known what to expect, but a pretty girl in a very wet dress had not been among his guesses. A collection of not-drabbles.
1. What to Expect

**So instead of studying for a final that I have in three hours, I decided that I needed to write something for Syfy's "Alice", because I absolutely fell in love with Hatter, and at the end of the series I squealed like the little fangirl I am. So, here's a little oneshot delving into Hatter's thoughts just before and when he meets Alice. Constructive criticism is always appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Syfy's "Alice"...or Hatter *cries***

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When Ratty told him that he'd found an oyster, that it was one he'd be interested in, Hatter wasn't sure what to expect. He wasn't even certain that the rat catcher had his wits about him, especially when Ratty said that the girl was the Alice of legend. After all, how often did an oyster escape from the casino? Never, at least as far as he knew. And he knew things, he knew people who knew things. Such was one of the privileges of running a teashop. But according to the rather smelly man, the oyster apparently had use of all her faculties, knew what she wanted and what she was doing.

She was looking for someone, another oyster, and had even tried to pay the rat catcher with some sort of odd green paper. She definitely hadn't fallen prey to the Queen's brainwashing chemicals. Oysters at the casino didn't know anything, not even their own name, or so he'd heard. He'd never actually been in the casino before. No, he wasn't high enough in the ranks to gain access to the building. However, he heard things, snippets of conversation and gossip from the workers that transported the tea to his lovely shop. So that would mean that she'd somehow escaped from the scarab before it reached the casino. Ratty had found a clever little oyster, whether she be the Alice of legend or not.

So of course, he'd had no idea what to expect while he waited for the rat catcher to fetch the oyster. The name Alice made him think of a little girl, the one that had upset the government over a hundred fifty years ago. Ah, but that couldn't be right. Oysters didn't even live that long, their life spans being much shorter than those of Wonderland natives. Besides, the Queen had never harvested children from the other side of the looking glass before. That, he knew for sure.

When he heard two sets of footfalls nearing, he did the first thing that came to mind: asked the oyster if she'd like a cup of tea. He was, after all, the proprietor of the teashop, and such was in his nature to be a gracious host. But he hadn't meant the distilled emotions manufactured in the casino. No, he never indulged in those. He saw how addictive they were, how people came back for more and more, bidding on the chemicals until they had nothing left. Running the teashop, he saw the results of his business firsthand.

Was he proud of what he did? Not entirely, but someone else would be doing it if not him. He figured he might as well be the one to profit from it. Besides, the position gave him access to information, something that the resistance needed and would pay dearly for, along with whatever other goods he smuggled to them; he did benefit from working both sides of the battle, even with the tidbits of guilt that sometimes accompanied that sort of life. And maybe he didn't experience much bliss, excitement, or compassion, but that was all right. At least, whenever he _did_ feel those sensations, as rare as those moments might be, he'd know they were real.

She declined his offer and asked, "Who are you?" He was about to just come right out with it and say his name, when he turned around in his chair and saw Alice for the first time. He hadn't known what to expect, but a pretty girl in a very wet dress had not been among his guesses. And she _was_ a pretty girl…in a _very_ wet dress.

Instead, he said, "A friend…I hope." Oh yes, he definitely wanted to be her friend. Maybe it was because he knew that she wouldn't stand a chance without him, knew that she'd be caught in no time without his protection, but for some reason he wanted to help this little oyster in need. Yeah, help her right out of that dress. Nah, she wasn't _that_ pretty. It might have only been that putting the new clear conscience tea on the market that day was lying a bit more heavily on his _own _conscience than he preferred, and lending a hand to the girl might get rid of such bothersome niggles at the back of his mind.

But she didn't trust him, thought for sure that he had some ulterior motive for wanting to aid her, and boy she was as serious as they came. He couldn't get even the tiniest of smiles out of her. Hmm…maybe that was why he liked her. She would be a challenge. And while he usually tried to take the easy way out, kissing butts what needed kissing to avoid trouble, sometimes a little challenge was fun. So he led her out of his base of operations, his home, to help her find Jack what's-his-name.

He never expected that by the time he was through helping her, she'd become more than just an oyster, more than a gateway out of guilt, more than a challenge, more than a pretty girl in a very wet dress, and that he'd want to be more than just her friend.


	2. A Man Who Knows

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Well, I hadn't originally planned on continuing this, but several people's reviews have changed my mind. And to all those who have reviewed of favorited this story, thank you so much. I really hadn't been expecting this great of a response, and you all just made my day. These won't really be drabbles because they're too long for that, so I'm not exactly sure what to call them. Anyways, this one pretty much describes Alice's thoughts when she meets Hatter, sort of like the last one but this time in her perspective. Oh, and if there's anything that you guys might want me to address or focus on in a future not-drabble, then by all means tell me. I'm always up for prompt suggestions. Hope you like this!

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Right before the odd old man dressed in fisherman's garb ran off, he yelled, "A man who knows!" and disappeared into what Alice supposed was a tea house, considering the red words continually scrolling across the front of the building.

_A man who knows…_she wasn't exactly sure what to expect. By the way the freaky guy said it, she imagined him to be some sort of fortune-teller. Maybe an old, bearded man dressed in robes like a wizard, who sat in an ornate throne and consulted a crystal ball at times. He'd be a man surrounded by bookshelves upon which sat ancient novels and scrolls containing dark secrets of this crazy place. He'd be a man who dabbled in magic, maybe even have a wand. He'd be a man that brewed potions over a large cauldron. Maybe he was the one that made the colored liquids in those little glass bottles she'd seen on the ground floor. He'd spout words of wisdom, tell her what she needed to do to get out of there. Hey, she could imagine whatever she wanted. In this type of place, she wouldn't doubt of such a person existing.

Of course, _the man who knows_ lived up to none of her expectations. The smelly guy led her into a room that contained quite a few things, but an air of mystery was not one of them. There were no bookcases of ancient knowledge, but instead a rather odd assortment of white furniture. White sofa, mattress, wardrobe, hat stand, tables, and several chairs, one of which was faced away from her. She would've thought it to be an almost standard sort of apartment if not for the fact that grass and dirt substituted carpeting and tile. All she could see was a tan hat peeking over the top of that one chair, definitely unlike one belonging to a sorcerer.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" asked a voice originating from the chair. It sounded rather boyish, lacking the sort of raspy quality that indicated many years of use.

She declined, of course. She had no time for tea and other frivolities; not when she had to find Jack, who had been captured, taken from her and was most likely trapped in that flying beetle contraption from which she'd managed to escape. All she wanted was to find him and get out of this strange place. She was tired of not knowing anything, like where she was, why Jack had been taken, or who _the man who knows _really was. Therefore, logically, she asked him for his name. And when that chair spun around, those other questions momentarily vanished from her mind.

There was no long, white beard, but just a bit of stubble on his jaw. And there were no robes, but instead moderately normal clothing, although the print of his shirt was a bit flamboyant. She found him to be…well, admittedly somewhat attractive.

Attractive or not, _the man who knows_ turned out to be nothing more than a sleazy, smug man who ran the teashop. And apparently, the smelly old man had only brought her there so that he could sell her to this conceited guy for a vial of what he called "excitement," whatever that was. Maybe this guy was some sort of drug dealer. To be honest, she didn't trust him one bit. People who engaged in the act of buying and selling other people, among other things, generally weren't the sort that she'd like to put her faith in. It didn't help that he gave her a nice look up and down and called her a pretty girl. The way he circled her, constantly invading her personal space, just gave her the creeps. She couldn't be sure if he was checking her out or inspecting her like some sort of product, or maybe it was a mixture of both.

He offered to help her, but all she could wonder was what he'd want in return. He acknowledged that her type of money was useless here in this place he called Wonderland. She didn't believe his whole claim of just being a generous guy who genuinely wanted to help her out. No, she knew that people like him were always after a profit in life, always wanted something in return. The way he kept looking at her, how he commented on her very wet dress, only increased her suspicions. She even got the impression that maybe what he wanted was a bit of _her_, and that thought was definitely none too pleasant.

But then he mentioned how if he was the frying pan, then out there, that weird place, was the fire. Even if she didn't trust him, she didn't think that he actually intended to harm her; she knew that he was right. She may not have wanted to be anywhere near him, but she'd be much worse off without him. Oysters, the term they used for people from her world, weren't treated with the most respect around here. So she accepted his offer, only because she had no other choice. But she didn't trust him, not by a long shot.

She had no idea that by the time he was through helping her, he'd only end up taking one thing from her in return, something that he wouldn't even ask her for, something that she wouldn't even realize she'd be willing to give him until he already had it: her heart.


	3. Flaws in the Plan

**I have to thank Akatsuki Child for this one, because she gave me the idea. So…thank you so much! I had planned to mainly focus on Hatter and Alice in these not-drabbles, but after writing this piece I think I might do this for more of the characters. And to all who favorited this or are on alerts for it, I would really appreciate if you guys could maybe give a little review, tell me what you like about these not-drabbles so much. If I know what it is that I'm doing right, then I can make sure to keep doing it! And remember, if you've got a suggestion then please tell me!**

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Jack was a man who always had a plan. He was always one step ahead, laying out the consequences in his mind before they actually occurred. Some might call him…cold, but that's how one appeared when one never really lived in the moment, constantly thinking of the future and what would come next.

The plan was to gain Alice's trust and then tell her of Wonderland, convince her that the world existed. Best-case scenario was that she would believe him and come without a fuss; worst-case scenario was that he would have to take her there by force. But, of course, the suits arrived before he had a chance to implement that part of the plan. He knew that there was always the chance that they might find him on the other side of the looking glass, that they might come for him and the ring. Best-case scenario was that he could get her into Wonderland and to safety before the suits captured him; worst-case scenario was that she would remain in her world while he was back in his mother's clutches. Either way, he knew that _he_ was what the suits would be after, not Alice. The ring would be safe in her possession. Best-case scenario was that she would happily accept the ring as a token of his affection for her; worst-case scenario was that he would have to secretly leave it with her person. No matter what happened, the ring would be hidden from the suits, and that was what was important.

Of course, every plan has its flaws.

Alice was a woman (obviously), and he figured that the easiest way to gain her trust would be through her heart. After all, he was a prince, the soon-to-be king if all went as planned; he was a gentleman, who'd learned some aspects of romance from when his relationship with the Duchess was…well, romantic. Before she'd become his mother's creature, always watching him like a hawk and reporting back to the Queen, there had been something genuine between them. Her betrayal had definitely cut him deep; after all, she was the first woman he could claim to have ever…loved, or at least feel something for that was akin to the sentiment. He had acquired a distaste for such emotions, so of course others might see him as being somewhat… indifferent. By keeping himself emotionally distant from others, he could avoid those kinds of negative feelings. He knew that it would be so easy to simply take a drop of liquid happiness, lose himself in mixtures of bliss and ecstasy. But he refused to embrace the very thing that represented all that was wrong and corrupt in Wonderland, everything he stood against.

He was a man in charge of his emotions, so of all the things that he knew could happen, he never considered the idea of falling in…love. He was the dashing hero that could sweep a woman off her feet, and that was what Alice had needed. But there was just something about her that slowly changed his forced, false sentiments into real ones. He hadn't anticipated that change, but he took it in stride. He'd had a job to do, and nothing would stop him from attaining his goal.

Another thing that he hadn't predicted was that Alice would end up in Wonderland _without_ him. When he had been led to the throne room to find her as his mother's prisoner, he had been…afraid that everything was ruined. But apparently she'd been smart enough to hide the ring before being brought to the casino; she was a very clever girl. To see the look on her face when he spouted those lies of her being only an affair, of her stealing the ring while he slept, made him momentarily feel…guilty for messing with her emotions. He…loved her, and although he hadn't meant for it to happen, he couldn't make himself feel anything less for her.

He'd been surprised to peer out the window of his room (more like a prison) and see her zoom by through the air on a flamingo, clinging to the back of some man. He knew that there was still the possibility that the plan could succeed; if she had managed to escape from the casino, then so could he. After making his way back to Caterpillar at the hospital, they soon received a message from Dormouse that a man called Hatter, apparently one of the less trustworthy members of the resistance, and Alice had the ring. They were ready to give it back to the resistance. While journeying to their location, Jack, as always, calculated the different ways that their reunion could go. Best-case scenario was that she would be overjoyed to see him, leap into his arms, and forgive him for lying to her; worst-case scenario was that she'd be sore and he'd have to _keep_ lying to her so that she'd trust him again. While he wasn't looking forward to the second option, he knew that he'd have to do whatever it took to get her on his side once more.

Jack was a man who calculated every possible outcome and devised a way to work around each potential obstacle. No matter what occurred, he was quick on his feet in any situation because he was always thinking of the future. He never allowed himself to be caught off guard, as he already knew what might go wrong. The future king needed to be prepared for anything.

Why was it then, that when he finally found Alice, he hadn't anticipated the scene before him, of her and the hat-wearing man leaning into one another about to share a kiss, and why was it that he wasn't sure how to react at first when he felt a strange mixture of…jealousy and…heartbreak?


	4. Lost Nerve

**Wow, this has to be the fastest I've ever updated a fic before, updating almost each day. A huge reason is that your guys' feedback is, oh my gosh it's just so motivating and makes me want to keep writing nonstop. However, I do need sleep (stupid human body) so that's not quite possible. And now that you guys have given me quite a lot of suggestions, I have plenty of material to work with and that is fabulous! I hope you all continue to read and review, because seriously it's what keeps me going! And sorry about the length of this one, it kinda just wrote itself. I credit gwenhwyfar with giving me the idea for the ending.**

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A young squire, only ten years of age, awoke from a long, troubled sleep and uncurled himself from the fetal position he'd assumed for the past three days. He crawled out from beneath an old bed and into the sunlight that poured in through the half-collapsed roof. His small hands shoved aside a makeshift barricade that they had created in a rush when he'd sought shelter in that dilapidated, abandoned shack. Pushing open the door, he listened for any sort of noise, perhaps the clanging of armor or triumphant cheers. All was silent but for the wind blowing across the plains and through the wood where the hovel was situated.

No food or drink for three days left him weary, and he shakily got to his feet, leaning against the decaying doorframe for support. The heavy armor he still wore did nothing to help his balance. Staggering forward, his stiff legs carried him from the safety of the hut and out of the forest, to the open fields. A cool breeze ruffled his hair and felt glorious against his sweaty face. He raised his eyes to peer up a gentle hill expanding quite a ways ahead of him. Over the crest, he knew, was where a massive battle had taken place. What he did not know was which army had been victorious: the hearts, or the Knights that he had abandoned as he fled like a great coward into the wood?

He slowly trekked up the hill, unfastening and dropping various pieces of armor to the ground in his wake. All he could hope for was that his parents would be too joyful to see him alive to be angry about his actions. The White Knight had been counting on him to have his great lance prepared for whenever he might need it, and the squire had failed. He'd lost his nerve, dropping the lance and fleeing for his life when the Knight had called upon him. He was sure that the great White Knight would be utterly ashamed of him, deem him unworthy of ever rising to the same status. In the depths of his heart, the squire knew that he would never become a Knight.

As he came up over the ridge, all thought left him as he gazed upon the horrendous sight below. Strewn across the once perfectly green sea of grass, now marred by patches of dull russet, were the fallen bodies of his comrades and enemies. A lone flag flew in the center of the carnage, its pole standing firmly in the ground; the banner was embroidered with a single red heart. His legs carried him swiftly down the hill, seemingly of their own accord, until he stood amongst the deceased. Brave men and boys his own age lied haphazardly in every sort of position, still wearing their armor, some even still clutching their weapons in hands frozen with death. He did not need to inspect the bodies any closer to know that there were no survivors.

Then, amongst the fallen, he saw the White Knight, partially covered by the body of a foe. Even when so close to losing himself to death's clutches, the Knight had still been able to defeat one last enemy. If anything, the sight filled the squire with even more shame. The valiant Knight had been the epitome of courage and nobility, fighting until he drew his last breath, while the boy had run…nothing but a coward disguised by the armor that he had been unworthy of wearing.

With a heavy heart, he returned to the kingdom to report the army's defeat, only to find absolute destruction. The townspeople were slaughtered, some lying in the streets and others over the thresholds of the remains of their houses. His own home was nothing but a pile of charred brick, and his parents — or whatever was left of them — probably buried beneath the rubble. The once beautiful palace was now perhaps only half intact, and as he subconsciously wandered through its silent ruins, he came across the throne room. His Majesty, the Red King, slouched forward in the regal throne, dead just like everyone else in the kingdom. To his dismay, he found the King's hands bare of the stone of Wonderland. The ring that was passed down through each royal generation to the next King, that powered the looking glass, had been taken. Without looking, he knew that the looking glass had been stolen as well.

He knew that he was the only one left. And he wished that he had died with them. The greatest honor that a man could have was to die in battle; and he, nothing more than a craven whelp, had brought only shame and _dis_honor to his family name. How could he redeem himself?

He buried the dead. Every corpse that he could find, male, female, adult, child, royal, peasant, he laid them all to rest. After at least a month — he stopped counting the days of isolation — the entire kingdom, as far as he knew, was asleep beneath the ground, and he'd become quite the expert hole digger. But one body he left as it was: His Majesty, the Red King. The boy found himself too unworthy to lay even a finger on the King's body, and so the dead monarch would continue to watch over what was left of the once greatest city of the realm. With his work done in the kingdom, he set off for the battlefield to give the fallen heroes the same treatment. By that time, the corpses had been roasting in their armor for a good time, and the stench was almost unbearable. However, he had to do this; he had to pay for his actions. To bury strangers had been a difficult task, as he'd been unsure of what to say as the sole attendee at their funerals; while he was not a priest, he tried his best to help them onto the afterlife. What was perhaps even harder was to handle and speak to those that he'd grown up with, his fellow squires and the younger knights.

Worst of all was confronting the body he saved for last, the man that he had served, the White Knight. Even after being dead for some time, the very image of the Knight was intimidating. The boy felt as though he were being judged, being harshly ridiculed for abandoning his comrades when he was being counted on. Perhaps the Knight had fallen for no other reason than that he was in dire need of his lance, but the disloyal squire was nowhere to be found.

For the first time since he emerged from that shack, Charles Eustace Fortheringhay le Malfois III cried. Shock had left no room for thoughts of weeping, and work had left no time for tears. But now, subjected to the entire cause of his misery, knowing that his shame would cling to him like a shadow until the end of his days, the ten-year-old boy cried. He just wanted another chance to prove himself, to avenge the White Knight and all the others that had been killed. For if that valiant Knight was still alive, that's exactly what he would do. He would retaliate and somehow avenge his comrades-in-arms' deaths. That Knight had been brave and noble and honorable and —

The squire lowered his hands from his dirty, tear-streaked face and stared at the Knight's body resting in the grave, not yet covered with earth. He knew exactly what to do. He would carry on the White Knight's name, embody everything that he had been; with that courage and strength, he would avenge his comrades when the time was right, redeem himself, and regain his honor.

Over a century later, he'd lost his nerve again and run when a comrade was counting on him. He could hear the harbinger desperately shouting his name, "Charlie!" but he could not bring himself to turn around and do the right thing. That somewhat impudent, young man had charged into the throng of suits without hesitation to save the fair maiden, while _he_ galloped in the other direction like the spineless whelp he'd always be on the inside.

With tears shining in his eyes once more, the White Knight berated himself for being an imposter, a cowardly fraud, and wondered if he would ever manage to live up to the title he assumed.

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**Did I get Charlie's name right? It's sort of hard to understand some of the stuff he says, but he's still awesome, my second favorite right after Hatter!**


	5. Inner Beauty

**Well, here is the next not-drabble, again your guys' wonderful comments have motivated me to update quickly. I think I might write some more Alice/Hatter after this, but I'm not sure. I've really wanted to delve into Mad March's head for a while now. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it, and the idea for this came from gwenhwyfar.**

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The Duchess was extremely beautiful, capable of having a man wrapped around her finger before he even laid eyes on her. Her image stunned men into awed silence when she passed by, sent them scurrying to fulfill her tiniest request. Her platinum blond locks cascaded down her back in shimmering waves, her smoky eyes staring coldly out from beneath dark lashes. There was ice in those eyes, striking ice that held a man captivated until she looked away and not a moment before. Whether it be a mere glance, or perhaps a drawn-out glower, her gaze always left a man practically gasping for air the moment he was released from that trance. Her flawless, cream-colored skin seemed to be of porcelain. It was as though the most talented artist ever born had sculpted her from marble and magic had brought life to her perfect body. However, in all her radiant glory, she was sin embodied. Her splendor was so tantalizing, and yet none could lay a hand on that image of absolute perfection. She was taboo, fiancée of the Crown Prince and property of the Queen of Hearts. To touch her would be of the greatest offence, invoking the royals' wrath and resulting in a beheading.

She was the most gorgeous creature in all of Wonderland.

Compared to her, this Alice was pathetic. She'd thought that Jack had taste, but as she inspected this girl that he'd had an affair with she wondered what it was that he found so pretty about her. Her nose had an unflattering bump that made it somewhat beaklike; her eyes slanted downward at the edges; her thin lips were chapped; her hair was a mousy brown, dull, with her bangs pulled back in a ridiculous style; and her sense of fashion, utterly atrocious. She was appalled that Jack would dare replace her with this girl. While she understood that there was no woman that could truly match up to her splendor, she would've thought that he'd try to find someone more similar to her than this mess of a girl. After all, why else would a man enter an affair with someone other than for her magnetism? For him to seek out another woman's affections was an insult in itself, but his lack of taste in the matter only added to the offense.

The Duchess carried about her a confidence that was overwhelming, one that might cause others to view her as being vain; she was far from it. Her conceit was not the genuine sort bred from a lifetime of praise and flattery, though such voiced admiration she received was not misplaced. No, her egotism came from the bottled beauty that she indulged in every day, losing herself to its heavenly narcissistic effects. It transformed her into a radiant being of perfection that no man could resist.

However, when the effects of the emotion ebbed away, she did not see the ethereal beauty that others claimed she possessed when she looked in the mirror. She saw a woman who had betrayed the man she loved, who abused his trust for her own benefit. She saw a woman who drew out whatever information the Queen hungered for through coy smiles and enticing caresses, spewing such secrets only moments later in Her Majesty's presence. She saw a woman who turned to drugging her love's drinks with honesty to loosen his tongue after he learned of her treachery, when his eyes became hard in her presence and every word he voluntarily delivered to her was heavily guarded. She hated that woman, that broken girl who gave in after repeated sessions in the truth room, that shivering coward that could not stand up to the Queen just as her son did, who hurt him and threw away everything they once shared so that she might escape further pain. She saw herself an ugly creature, the embodiment of the guilt festering within her. She could not bear to face that monster, and so she ran from it; she banished it with liquid beauty that let her see what everyone else did.

The Duchess was beauty incarnate, so to think that Jack had sought after Alice for her looks, when he'd had a being of absolute perfection hanging on his arm, was outright preposterous. But if he had chosen her for her character, her nature, then the gorgeous creature could not find it within herself to condemn his actions. If he wanted a woman of heart, then she understood why he would look elsewhere.

She herself had nothing of value to give him.


	6. A Fear of Heights

**Alrighty, it's time to come back to that couple we all know and love (or at least I do). I'm kinda nervous about this one, can you guys please tell me if I put in too much fluff? Is there even fluff, or maybe not and I'm just paranoid? I don't know, I just keep feeling that I did something wrong with this one, but hopefully that's not the case. Oh, and if you guys think my author notes are annoying then just say so and I'll stop writing them. I'm just accustomed to writing them for all my stories. Anyway, share your thoughts, alleviate my anxiety, or just enjoy! The idea for this one came from gwenhwyfar, and I'm still accepting suggestions if anyone has something they'd like me to write.**

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Alice had a fear of heights.

She'd enjoyed climbing trees as a child, specifically the large oak in the front yard. There was a special spot in the tree where two large boughs met and formed the perfect seat. She'd bring Dinah up with her to that spot and enjoy a good book while her furry companion slept in her lap.

But one day Dinah was in no mood to rest, and she wanted to climb higher. Alice called to her to come back, but the cat paid no heed to her requests. She needed to make sure that her pet was safe, so she followed her. Up and up she went, past her record height and still she climbed. When Dinah finally stopped climbing and gracefully walked to the end of a branch, Alice went after her. When Alice reached the cat, she wrapped her arm around the furry body, reprimanding her for being so naughty. Then she heard a cracking sound, and the branch jerked beneath her. A screech escaped her lips and her gaze shifted downward; the ground seemed so far away, so incredibly far away, instilling an utter fear in her breast that brought tears to her eyes. Her vision blurred and the ground seemed to swirl, only increasing the panic churning in her stomach. She cried out for help, for her dad, because he always protected her. Clinging to a branch with one hand and holding Dinah to her chest with the other, she couldn't tear her gaze away from the shifting ground seemingly miles away. A rustling of branches filled her ears, accompanied by a voice, her dad's voice.

"Alice! Alice, sweetheart, it's okay," he called, but she was completely gripped by the sight stretching miles away. The rustling sound grew louder and then she was vaguely aware that her dad was near. "Don't worry, baby, everything's going to be fine. Look at me." She couldn't, she just couldn't. "Alice, look at me." Slowly, she raised her wide eyes to meet his, and the branch gave another shudder. "Don't look down, jelly bean." He outstretched his hand toward her; she hesitantly released the branch and, inch by inch, reached for him. Her hand was so close to resting in his just as the bough gave another great crack and snapped completely off the tree. She fell with it. Dinah was fine, as all cats land on their feet, but Alice landed on her arm.

Now, after making the mistake of peering over the building ledge, Alice clutched the ladder behind her. Her breath caught in her throat, and then suddenly the air wouldn't come fast enough; her pulse throbbed in her throat and wrists, hammering in her chest. She wasn't staring down an abyss between concrete skyscrapers, but through branches at the shifting ground; and her hand wasn't clinging to a ladder, but a bough that trembled just as she did.

Then he told her to look at him, his voice oddly familiar. She closed her eyes, imagining her dad staring at her with worry etched in his features, his hand outstretched towards her. He said her name, so she opened her eyes to look at him as he'd told her to. It was not her dad's face that her gaze rested on. No, this face was younger, with dark brown eyes. It was Hatter's. The sleazy, smug teashop owner was holding out his hand to her, looking neither sordid nor haughty. His eyes weren't smiling or laughing at her expense, but rather held a glint of what she imagined might be concern, and they seemed to say, "Just trust me." She didn't want to, she couldn't, she didn't know what he wanted or what his aim was, and she knew that he'd let her fall…just like her dad did. If someone who'd always protected her as a child had let her fall, then how could she possibly trust this man that she didn't even know to get her to safety? She just couldn't! However, whether or not she could trust him, she understood that she eventually needed to get off the ledge. She managed to pry her fingers off the ladder, and again she reached for help. She imagined the ledge crumbling beneath her, and she holding onto nothing would plummet.

She watched as their hands connected, felt her fingertips brush across his shirt cuff and her palm rest atop his callused one. Her fingers instinctively wrapped around his hand and his own grip tightened, his thumb caressing her knuckles in an oddly gentle manner. She noticed things that she shouldn't have noticed right then, things that somehow managed to wriggle past her dominating terror and flicker through her thoughts; like how different their skin tones looked contrasted right against each other, or how she found his touch sending a sort of comforting warmth blooming across her skin.

She brought her gaze up to lock once again with his, waiting for him to make the next move. She'd come this far, and now that she gripped his hand there was no way she was letting go. He told her not to look down, and she didn't. She couldn't. That hint of concern, that something that promised safety, in his warm, brown eyes held her attention and she clung to it. Her shallow, rapid breathing didn't slow down, and her body continued to tremble, because a voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that she was standing on a ledge and one misstep could send her tumbling down to her death. But slowly, she followed Hatter's movements, allowing him to lead her along the ledge. Each step she took was shaky, but she continued forward, never tearing her eyes away from his. Because there was another voice, much softer but still there, that told her he wouldn't let her fall.

That was the one she listened to.


	7. Shit Happens

**Hi everyone! Thank you all for you wonderful, motivating reviews! I'm glad my last not-drabble was taken so well. This one was probably my favorite to write so far, because I really enjoyed coming up with a back-story for the relationship between our cookie jar-headed assassin and lovely teashop owner. I know for sure that I shall be returning to delve into his thoughts again at some point. Um, there are a few mentions of violence in this one, but other than that it's clean. I hope you like it! **

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He didn't expect to enter the business world, but shit happens.

Both street urchins who were in different areas of expertise, they met when David, no older than thirteen and even then wearing a hat, tried to con him, and he tried to stab the kid's eyes out in response. Hey, it was his nature to be a little bit violent. Needless to say, they became fast friends. David had been a real smooth talker, the sort who could get a man to give up the expensive leather jacket on his very back just as he was throwing away the price tag. And he, well he preferred to speak with his fists and knives to get what he wanted. Both of their methods were highly effective, just one thing that they had in common. Another was their love for tea, a drink proclaimed illegal by that cow, the Queen of Hearts.

After a while of stealing and just getting by, they decided to start their own business, set up shop in the back room of a bar, whose owner they paid each month, brewing and selling tea to those who cared to find them. They went by names given to each other. David became Hatter, never caught without some sort of hat on his head, while he became March. Hatter stated the reason behind the name was that whenever March was after someone to have a little chat with them, he never ran after them, but marched. He always caught his man, having a nose for blood, and he liked to take his time, marching with confidence and an air of intimidation.

For three years, their business ran smoothly. Hatter was the talker, of course, making the deals and whatnot, while he stood just beside the door, silent with arms crossed and eyes trained on every person that walked into the room. They had a special policy that appealed to their customers: drink and pay later. If someone didn't have the dough to purchase their wonderful product, then Hatter would set the client up with an allotted amount of time to pay them. If that deadline passed, well that's where March came in. If someone didn't pay with money, they'd pay with their life. He enjoyed his job, and although he could tell that Hatter never wanted to hear the specifics of a problematic client's payment, he shared every detail.

There was one girl, a pretty little thing that Hatter took a liking to, with platinum blond locks and pouty red lips, that March was never allowed to carry out the policy with. His partner gave her tea for no charge but a kiss on the cheek for each bottle. To be honest, it made him sick. It's not that he was jealous, he just didn't like making exceptions. For anyone.

He didn't expect to part ways with his best friend, but shit happens.

Their reputation grew perhaps too much, and one day a patrol of suits came barging into their base of operations, destroying everything before a cold voice rang out and he was sure that the two of them were officially fucked. The cow strolled in, all high and mighty, and told them they were in serious trouble. However, that trouble could go away if they agreed to work for her. March joined her ranks of assassins while Hatter was placed in charge of a teashop, a new project of the cow's. The place didn't sell the sort of tea that they'd been brewing, but liquid emotions drained from what she called "oysters." She figured calling the products teas would cause the public to welcome them more, as they would associate them with the once major staple of the economy. Hatter was a man destined to spend his life around tea, that was for sure.

Saying goodbye to his friend and business partner was tough, but they managed to get together several times a month to drink tea (which Hatter still made himself) and have a good time. That blond girl still came around, sometimes interrupting their meetings, now taking a bottle of beauty for that same old fee. It still made him sick.

He had a grand time working for the cow, tracking down enemies of the crown, infiltrating resistance bases, holding interrogations. Oh, the interrogations were the best. The tortured screaming, the pathetic begging, more screaming, the gush of information, and then silence: music to his ears. He reveled in the scent of his victims' blood on his hands and clothes. It came to the point where no one would join him for a questioning, not because they couldn't handle his methods, but because they were afraid of him. There were rumors that he went mad when with a target, that that's why they were all butchered beyond recognition when he was finished with them. They started calling him "Mad March," and he didn't mind. In fact, he liked the sound of it. But he wasn't mad. He just loved having fun, being allowed to do whatever he wanted, something he'd been deprived of while working with Hatter. He still told his friend about his work, and Hatter still sputtered into his tea every now and then at a more gruesome detail.

He didn't expect to be stabbed in the back, but shit happens.

Word had reached the cow that a resistance member was going to be bringing a package to the Great Library, along with the information of the pickup point for the package. She sent him to trail the member, let them lead him to the Great Library, and then do what he did best. He had known Hatter to be quite a few things (con artist, charmer, swindler, trickster), but traitor was not on the list. At least, not until then, when he saw Hatter leaving the building that served as the rendezvous point, tucking something beneath his arm and looking over his shoulder as he set off along the ledge. At first, there was some hesitation on March's part, a thought that this complicated things. But then he remembered that he had a mission to complete, and his friend had just become a target. It was just business, he'd understand.

He trailed along a story above the target, never letting Hatter stray from his sight for a moment. If he'd been concentrating on where he was walking, he would've noticed an eroded piece of the ledge before he stepped on it and it crumbled beneath his weight. He fell to the story below with a crash, which made Hatter whirl around and spot him. The target didn't run, and March knew why. Hatter had heard enough stories to know that he always caught his man.

The target tried to reason with him, saying that they were friends and couldn't he just let him go this once? For all his experience with conning and being fluent in the language of lies, Hatter had never been able to trick March, not even that very first time. Grabbing the target by his collar, March told him to take him to the Great Library; otherwise, he'd kill him right on the spot. Well, he'd kill him even if he did take him there. Surprisingly, the target refused. He should've been more alert, but he was sure that he had the upper hand. The one second that it took him to glance down and retrieve his knife from his coat was all the target needed to pull back his arm. And then that sledgehammer connected with his face and he was out.

He didn't expect to get set up, but shit happens.

The moment he returned to the casino, he was escorted to the cow's throne room. After having to admit that he failed the mission, a bad way to begin the meeting, he was immediately met with an onslaught of accusations that he'd been stealing tea on a regular basis. And how did they know this? An anonymous source, only nod to an identity was that he or she worked in a teashop, the teashop that March had been stealing from, had sent a letter to the casino. The so-called "psychopath" had apparently been threatening said teashop employee with murder for many months if he or she did not give him whatever tea he wanted when he wanted it. Said teashop employee had evidently also witnessed the cow's favorite assassin force himself onto the Duchess just outside the shop the previous night. The fact that the little bitch (she hadn't changed at all over the years) backed up that accusation, crying tears that he knew were fake, was enough for that cow to believe all the rest of the bullshit in the letter. The Queen apologized, because this was all her fault, and she should have given him restrictions, but she'd just been so confident that he could handle the freedom, and she was so disappointed. Her little speech was bogus, and he waited for his punishment. That classic sentence of, "Off with his head!" was one he figured he'd be able to avoid.

He didn't expect to die, but shit happens.

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**And yeah, I know I kind of went back to the "what to expect" thing in this one. I figure I'll do it when I can make it fit, but otherwise I won't.**


	8. One Smile

**Hello everyone, thank you so much for your lovely comments! I'm sorry this one took a bit longer to finish than the rest, but I had a few ideas for some future Hatter centric not-drabbles, and I wanted to write those before I forgot. And ever since writing the last not-drabble and I imagined that the Duchess would get all her beauty tea from Hatter, I got an idea for a multi chappy fic focusing on them, with plenty of March thrown in, that would take place way before the miniseries. If I started it then it wouldn't be until after I finish this series, but if anyone's interested, or thinks it's a stupid idea, then I'd really like to hear your guy's thoughts. All right, enough of my blabbering, the idea for this one came from gwenhwyfar. Enjoy!**

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She accused him of being mawkish when he expressed his desire for a smile; really, he was only human. When that expression of utter shock crossed her features, when he finally refused her, he had hoped that she might say something in return. What that something was, he didn't know, perhaps an apology of sorts; but no such luck. He watched the set of doubles doors close behind her as the building's tremors strengthened. Sitting on the stairs before his throne (the smaller of the two), his hands resting on his knees, he couldn't tear his eyes away from where she had stood. His darling, his wife, the woman that he loved more than anything in all of Wonderland, was gone. What had he expected? That she'd stay and perish alongside him? They might have been married, had a child together, but she didn't love him near enough (if she did at all) to do such a thing.

In all the years they'd been together, from when Winston first began courting her, he hadn't been able to make her smile. He'd seen her smile, as rare as those moments were, but those expressions of pleasure had never been directed towards him. She hadn't immediately scorned him as she'd done with the other suitors, and perhaps she'd held a tiny amount of fondness for him in her heart…somewhere, but he never received one smile. Not when he proposed, not when they married, not when they consummated said marriage, not when Jack was born, not when he agreed to the casino and all that came with it. Not one smile.

All he wanted was for her to be happy, because he loved her. So he never said no, never refused her anything, never complained. When she wanted the casino built, he hired the best and built it for her. When she wanted him to begin capturing oysters, he sent suits through the looking glass and captured them for her. When she wanted more emotions on the market, he dealt with the scientists and came up with new teas for her. Everything he did, even wearing the ugly maroon tuxedo, was for her. Just for a smile.

He had lived a life of always being doubted, underappreciated, and disregarded. Whenever anything went wrong, he was the first one that she pointed her finger at, for she always expected him to blunder. And after everything that he had done for her, had she ever once thought to thank him for his troubles? Had he received any gratitude for the things he did, the efforts he took to fulfill her every fancy? Of course not. But he didn't complain, for he loved her, and instead bit his tongue. And at times when he tried to offer her some advice, sway her in some decision or another, she shut him up and less than kindly reminded him that she was the one who wore the crown. Maybe that's where he went wrong. If he'd challenged her, denied her, she might have treated him with a bit of respect, might have appreciated him more. But he'd spoiled her rotten. For a smile. No one to blame for the way she was but himself.

Pieces of the ceiling began to fall around him, but he made no move to leave. He couldn't, not when all of this was his doing. This building, the tea business, had been his work. Honestly, he hated the entire complex business of governing the people through instant gratification. He remembered the old days, when people felt their own emotions, the good and the bad, when governing the people was done by actually solving whatever problems they had instead of eliminating any chance for problems to occur. Really, what was the use being the King of Hearts if he never did anything kingly? True, he kept the system from breaking down, but no one really cared who gave them their next fix as long as they got it. And with his wife constantly overshadowing him, he wouldn't be surprised if there were people who didn't even know there was a King at all. He had let Wonderland turn into a shadow of its former self, all for a smile. A smile that he never received.

He'd tried to set right a bit of his darling's work, with giving reprieve to those that she'd sentenced to beheading (when she wasn't around, of course). He hadn't been able to save everyone, but he did what he could. Then again, he probably could've done a lot more if he just stood up to her. However, he loved her, and that prospect of a smile had been enough to keep him in line.

All that he had done had truly been for something so miniscule, but it meant the world to him. His entire life, from the moment he met her, had been devoted to making her happy and content. He'd tried his best to give her what she wanted; his best was never quite enough. She always managed to frown in his direction, complain when he didn't live up to her standards (which was often, and her constant expectation of him to fail didn't help), and treat him like a doormat. However, he was more than a doormat, much more. He was the one who had allowed his wife to turn into a selfish tyrant, allowed Wonderland to transform into the corrupted place it had become. And as the man who had built up the great monstrosity of the casino, he would go down with it, just like a captain with his ship.

To think that he had done it all for nothing more than one little smile.


	9. The Magic Touch

**Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone! Here's a stocking stuffer for you guys, and although it's not Christmas themed, it is Hatter-centric! Hope you enjoy, and please tell me what you think!**

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Hatter's family hadn't exactly been rolling in dough when he was a kid, so his old man took to teaching him hat and card tricks at an early age to amuse him. Sleight of hand was something that fascinated him to no end, and he'd spend hours trying to replicate his old man's tricks flawlessly. So at age ten, when his parents up and well…got themselves killed, he ran from his home with nothing but the clothes on his back, his old man's hat, and a deck of cards.

He'd set up a small crate along the side of some building (usually a pub), lay the cards down, and work his magic. He had a natural talent for drawing in people; his childish appearance (slight bucktoothed smile, single dimple, and scruffy hair) gave others the impression that he didn't know what he was doing, that he was the one being duped. The hat tricks also helped catching passersby's attention. If his innocent appearance wasn't enough, then he'd be able to persuade them with a few words like, "Hey, Mister, try your luck? I'm sure a sharp gentleman like yourself will win easy. Tell you what, first game's free. What've you got to lose?" And if they lost (and they did), well the prospect of being made a fool of by a kid was unpleasant, so they'd start laying down the pretty coins, and they'd keep going until they were completely cleaned out. He amassed a large collection of hats and jewelry, accepting those as payment when players ran out of money. He sold most of the jewelry, but kept a few nice rings for himself; and his old man's hat soon became one among many in his possession, but it always remained his favorite.

The major appeal of the tricks was the manipulation involved, the complete control over everything. He loved that feeling of power, of setting up all the circumstances and watching the whole lot unfold by his own rules. If people won, it was only because he let them; when they lost (and they normally did), it was because he was too skilled, too quick for their eyes to keep up.

However, for all his expertise with sleight of hand, he hadn't been able to fool March.

March was the sort of guy who lived in the moment, who liked to take chances and focused only on the short-term objective. But Hatter saw the whole picture, and that was the type of perspective needed when it came to business. He explained such to March, and it was through his crafty words that he was able to influence his friend's decision of letting him more or less run the show. He liked giving the orders, being in charge, calling the shots, whichever term you prefer. So when the Queen set him up with running the teashop, he was just fine with it. The cards stayed tucked away in his back pocket, the hat tricks only really coming into play when he was bored or trying to impress a lady. He went from cheating people with his hands to deceiving them with his words. It was a skill he practiced and perfected through his surprise visits with the Queen, when she decided to check up on him and the shop without notice, feeding her the lies he knew would keep him in her good favor. Playing both sides of the field had made him quite fluent in the language of deception.

He loved having complete control over people, when they were completely unaware of it, and the fact that he could do it without the use of teas made it all the more satisfying. So it irked him to no end whenever Alice argued with him. And she tended to do that a lot.

He wasn't used to being questioned and denied. Even when he and March were just starting out with their business, he could convince people that they wanted what he told them they wanted. And when he ran the teashop, people bought the teas he suggested. He just knew how people worked, knew what to say to make them do what he desired. However, he was at a loss when it came to Alice. She was different, infuriatingly so. At first, he had thought it rather amusing; he'd seen her as a challenge, a test for his abilities. But after a while, an interesting challenge became an aggravating woman that tried his patience repeatedly to the point that he wondered if he'd lost his magic touch. No matter what he said, she absolutely refused to give up on Jack and leave Wonderland while she still had her head, all because she _liked_ him. Perhaps what was most maddening about her was the fact that she wanted to make the decisions while knowing absolutely nothing about this place! He was her tour guide, for lack of a better term, so he should've been the one calling the shots because he knew better than she did! Actually no, really the worst part of it all was that since leaving the Great Library, he wasn't trying to con her, but genuinely looking out for her best interests!

Most took his word as it was, and the rest were bought after a minimal amount of answers. But not Alice. He told her to find a tree to climb, and that should have been the end of it, no questions asked. But (haha) he forgot for a moment who he was dealing with. She asked why, because she just couldn't believe that he would give her such advice for a good reason. He told her he was bait for the trap, and she asked what it was. He told her it was the Jabberwock, and she asked, "What?" He told her to get going, and she wanted a run-through of the plan, continuing their little game of let's-just-stand-here-and-become-Jabberwock-food. He told her the plan and to go (again), and she had the nerve to question his ingenuity. He was about to tell her to shut her trap or else _she_ could be the bait, when the Jabberwock decided to show up. And now, where was he thanks to her inability to keep her disagreements to herself and do what he said? Staring right into the face of said monster, its putrid breath rolling over him in hot waves, with no control over the situation whatsoever. That was something he hated: being powerless in a situation. And just like Alice, this beast was one thing he knew he couldn't sweet-talk into doing what he wanted. His knuckles connected with the Jabberwock's eye and he pulled Alice up while the pain distracted it. As he ran alongside her through the wood, away from danger, he hoped that she might have learned to do what he told her to do without a fuss.

Of course, no such luck.

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**Maybe it's just me, but for some reason I could just so easily imagine Hatter being a whiz at card tricks.**


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